This and so much more
by Girl in a White Dress
Summary: A series of stories about Irina's life. Written for the lj community everyfiveyears.
1. five

Title: This (and so much more)  
Rating: PG  
Summary: It is her first birthday without Papa.  
Disclaimer: Not my characters.  
Author's Notes: Written for the lj comm **everyfiveyears** .

_And would it have been worth it, after all,  
Would it have been worth while,  
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,  
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts  
that trail along the floor--  
And this, and so much more?--  
It is impossible to say just what I mean!_

-- TS Eliot "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock"

* * *

It is her first birthday without Papa and instead of leaping out of bed, Irina hides under the covers and tries not to cry. Moscow is cold; Irina thinks she'll never be warm again. She's wearing the red mittens Papa gave her at the beginning of winter; the first new things she's ever had.

"These are for you, moy lapichka," he'd said. Then he'd kissed her, gone to work, and never come back.

Irina knows he's dead and he's not coming back. Sometimes she wishes she was dead too.

"Rishka! Wake up!" Katya bounces on the mattress. "Wake up; it's your birthday!"

Irina sticks her head out like a turtle peering out from its shell. "Go away, I'm sleeping."

"Liar." Katya smiles. "Lena says she'll take us to Red Square, if you want to go."

"What about Mama?"

"Mama has to work today." Katya pulls the blankets open. "So, come on!"

"I don't want to go. I want Papa."

Katya sighs. After a moment, her expression brightens. "I'll teach you how to pick pockets."

"Mama won't like it."

"Mama won't know."

Irina chews her lip. "Lena won't like it, either."

"Well, she doesn't have to know then."

"Okay." Irina climbs off the bed and gets dressed.

Twenty minutes later, she and Katya are chasing each other as they walk to Red Square with Elena.

"If you two are not going to behave, I'll make you go home," Elena says.

"Can't!" Katya laughs. "It's Rishka's birthday; she can do what she likes."

"Well, it's not _your_ birthday," Elena snaps.

Katya is undeterred. She snatches Irina's scarf and says, "Catch me if you can!"

Laughing, Irina runs after her and crashes into a tall man. She looks up at him, growing frightened when she sees the frown on his face.

"Comrade Khasinau, I'm sorry." Elena hurries over to where they are standing. Even Katya has stopped laughing, and watches from a distance.

Khasinau tips his head to Elena. "Elena Arkadyevna."

Elena squeezes Irina's shoulder. "Say sorry to Comrade Khasinau."

"Sorry," Irina mumbles, wishing desperately that Papa could be here.

"What's your name?" Khasinau says.

Irina glances at the ground until Elena squeezes her shoulder again. Tears spring to her eyes but she blinks them away. "Irina."

"It's nice to meet you, Irina Arkadyevna."

Irina looks at Elena then looks back at Khasinau and smiles weakly. She doesn't like this man, she wants to go home, and she wants Papa.

Khasinau turns his attention to Elena again. "You've applied to the Academy?"

"Yes." Elena smiles.

"Your father would be proud of you."

"I hope so."

Irina slips away to join Katya but she no longer has any interest in learning how to pick pockets. When Khasinau finally walks off, Irina runs back to Elena.

"Can we go home now?"

"You sure?"

"Yes." Irina nods. "I want to go home. I'm cold."

Elena shrugs. "Alright."

When they get back to the apartment, Irina crawls into bed fully dressed and cries.

She wants her Papa.


	2. ten

"Irina, get your nose out of that book and come eat!"

"I'm almost finished." Irina turns the page.

"Irina!"

Irina recognizes that note in her mother's voice, and she knows better than to push her luck. Slipping a scrap of paper between the pages to mark her place, Irina gets off the bed and heads for the kitchen. She stops in the doorway, surprised to see Elena there. ever since Elena graduated from the Academy, she's been scarce at home.

"Elenka's home," Katya announces unnecessarily.

"Hello, Lena." Irina smiles and steps forward to kiss her sister.

"Rishka." Elena wraps her arms around Irina. "You're taller."

Irina shrugs and breaks the embrace to sit on the chair next to Elena. She's always been closer to Katya than Elena, and since Elena joined the Academy there's been something different about her. Irina doesn't know what it is, but she knows that their relationship has changed as well.

This new Elena scares her a little, but Irina will never tell anyone that. She knows she's not supposed to be scared of her own sister.

"How's school?" Elena asks.

Irina shrugs again. "Fine."

"I've been hearing good things about you." Elena smiles and winks. "You're going to make a good Party member one day."

"Lena, she's only ten. She doesn't need to worry about that for a while yet." Mama places a bowl of soup in front of Irina. "Besides, Irina wants to be a writer one day, isn't that right?"

Irina stirs her soup, waiting for it to cool. "Maybe."

"I'm going to be an actress," Katya says. "Irina can write my plays."

Elena shakes her head. "It's hard to believe we're related."

"Maybe you were swapped at birth," Katya says. "I've heard that happens."

"Maybe you're the one who was swapped." Elena's smile is saccharine sweet, and obviously fake.

"You do whatever makes you happy," Mama says as she sits down. "Just because Papa, Elena and I joined the KGB doesn't mean that I expect you two to join as well."

"Of course," Elena adds. "By all means, be a starving writer and a poor actress. Mama and I will take care of you."

"Elena." There's a warning in Mama's voice, but Elena ignores it.

"You should be serving your country," she says.

"Enough, Elena. Katya is fourteen, Irina is ten; they're children. Leave them be."

Elena falls silent, but her expression is mutinous. Irina glances at Katya who, surprisingly, is silent.

"This is good soup, Mama," Irina says after a while, desperate to break the tension.

Mama smiles, but the atmosphere at the table is still cool, and Irina is relieved when the meal is finished and she can escape to the bedroom and her book.

She already knows that she doesn't want this for the rest of her life, this cramped flat and never enough food. Her books have shown her another life, a better life, and Irina knows there's more than this.

There's a world of possibilities awaiting her.


	3. fifteen

The room is silent but for the steady ticking of the clock on the bedside table. It is winter in Moscow and the small heater in the bedroom is not working properly. Irina pulls the sheet up, not to cover herself but for warmth. She rolls onto her side and props herself up on an elbow.

"Gerard Cuvee's not a Russian name," she says, the hint of a challenge in her voice.

He blinks lazily at her, then reaches out to pull her towards him. "My father was Belgian."

"Ah."

"My mother's a Muscovite; I was born here." His fingers skim across her ribcage. "Speaking of family, does your sister know you're here?"

"Which sister?"

"Elena."

"No."

"But Katya does?"

Irina shrugs, unrepentant. "I tell Katya everything."

"And you're not worried she'll tell Elena?"

"No." Irina throws off the sheet and straddles Gerard. "Why are you so worried about Elena?"

"I'd be a fool not to worry. She warned me to stay away from you."

Irina tilts her head. "Am I supposed to be flattered that you've defied the wrath of my oldest sister?"

"I went to the Academy with her; I know what she's capable of." He frames her face in his hands and smiles. "Imagine what she'd do if she knew I was in the process of corrupting her baby sister."

She laughs. "Shall I start calling you Humbert Humbert?"

"Who?" Gerard frowns.

"Never mind; it's not important." Her smile fades. "Do you think I'm too young for you?"

"What does Katya think?"

Irina rolls her eyes. "Katya doesn't care. She gave me a box of condoms and told me to be careful."

"I think I like Katya already."

"Well, I hope you don't like her too much."

Gerard rolls over, pinning her beneath him. "No. You're my favourite Derevko."

"So you're not sleeping with me just because you can't have Elena?" She doesn't think he is, but it never hurts to make sure.

"No, of course not."

"Good." Her lips curve upwards in a coy smile.

"You've bewitched me, you know," he says. His hand slides over her skin. "You're mine now."

"Really?" She arches an eyebrow.

"Yes." His thumb brushes circles over her hipbone before his hand moves lower. "Mine."

"I don't belong to anyone, Gerard." She's not sure the chill she feels is completely due to the temperature in the room.

"You belong to me." He captures her mouth in a kiss and the heat in her blood drowns out the small voice of warning at the back of her mind. Gerard is her first lover and their relationship is but three months old.

_It's just pillow talk_, she thinks. _He doesn't mean half of what he says_.

She decides she'll talk it over with Katya later, but for now Gerard is touching her and she can think of nothing else.

(Years later, in a cold cell in Kashmir, she will remember this night and the words she didn't believe, and she will finally understand.)


	4. twenty

Irina and Katya walk arm-in-arm towards the ice rink of Gorky Park. Katya has been unusually quiet ever since they left the apartment; Irina waits patiently. She knows her news has come as a surprise – she's still in a state of semi-shock herself – but she wants Katya's opinion. She has no secrets from Katya; she cannot keep this from her now.

They sit on a bench overlooking the ice, huddling together to stay warm. The music is loud – Rachmaninov, Irina thinks – which means there's less chance of someone overhearing the conversation.

Irina watches the skaters circle the ice. The music changes and still Katya is silent. There is an icy wind that cuts through the layers of clothing and chills to the bone. Irina pulls a small flask of vodka from her pocket and takes a sip before offering it to Katya.

"Surely there are other assignments," Katya says eventually.

"This is an incredible opportunity, Katyusha."

"Have you thought about it? I mean, really thought about it, beyond the idea of it being a good career move?" Katya takes another sip of vodka. "Pretending to be someone else, making this man love you, pretending you love him – I'm worried about what this will do to you."

"It won't do anything to me. They tell me it will take two years, and then it's finished."

"Come on, Ira. Are you really that naïve? What happens when the information you steal proves so valuable that they want you to stay longer?"

Irina shrugs. "Then I'll stay longer."

"And what happens when you fall in love with him?"

Her eyes widen as she turns to look at Katya. "Fall in love? Don't be ridiculous."

"Ask for another assignment," Katya says.

"You don't think I can do this?" Irina doesn't quite manage to hide the hurt in her voice.

"Oh, Irishka. I know you're strong and intelligent, but I just have a very bad feeling about this. There's so much more you could do."

Irina shakes her head.

"But I'm just a journalist," Katya says. "What do I know about this business? Maybe you should talk to Elena?"

"Elena's the one who recommended me for the assignment."

Katya falls silent again.

"She told me it would be a good opportunity to prove myself."

"Well, then. I wish you all the best." Katya takes a long drink from the flask. "And what of Gerard?"

"He's not happy about it."

"You won't consider staying for him?"

"I'm not in love with him."

"I see." Katya stands. "It's freezing out here; let's go home."

Though they return to the apartment arm-in-arm, there's a distance between them that wasn't there before. Despite Katya's disapproval, Irina knows she will accept the assignment. She knew she would accept it even before she told Katya about it. She believes Elena; it is a good opportunity.

She will prove Katya wrong, she decides. She will go to America and make this man love her, and she will come back to Russia unchanged.


	5. twentyfive

The baby is crying again.

Irina, functioning on autopilot, stumbles to the nursery, not bothering to switch on a light. _This isn't what I signed on for_, she thinks.

Sydney cries even harder when Irina picks her up, and Irina blinks back her own frustrated tears. "Shh, it's okay, Mommy's here."

She sits in the rocking chair, and fumbles with one hand to open the buttons of her night shirt. Sydney stops crying as soon as she latches onto Irina's breast, and as Irina gazes at her, all the annoyance she had felt earlier melts away.

Sydney grips Irina's thumb in her tiny hand, and Irina is surprised by the strength of someone so small. Every time she looks at Sydney, it seems as if there is something else to marvel at.

"Everything okay?" Jack asks from the doorway.

"Yeah," Irina says. "Your daughter had a big appetite."

Jack grins and crosses the room. "I guess she takes after her mother, then." He runs his hand over Irina's hair and there is such love in his expression that she can't help but smile back at him.

In moments like this one, it is tempting to believe that she really is Laura Bristow and that she knows no life outside of this one. She wonders how she could ever have thought she would not fall in love with Jack. His file had not prepared her for the reality of being with him.

And yet she knows this is not permanent. As much as she wants to pretend otherwise, one day she is going to have to leave. She will break his heart, betray her own heart, and now there is another person she is going to hurt. Sydney is an innocent in all this.

"Sweetheart, what's wrong?"

"What?"

"You're crying." Jack brushes her tears away with his fingertips.

"I'm just happy," she says. "Things are perfect now."

Jack bends down to kiss her forehead. "You're perfect. You and Sydney are all I've ever wanted."

"You should go back to bed. I'll be along in a minute."

"It's okay—"

"You've got to work tomorrow." She smiles. "Seriously, I'm just going to burp Sydney and change her diaper. I won't be long."

"Okay." He kisses her again, then kisses Sydney. "Good night, sweetheart."

Irina waits until he's gone before she allows the rest of her tears to fall. She doesn't know how she'll ever have the strength to leave.

She could tell Jack the truth now.

Even as the thought crosses her mind, she dismisses it. She can never tell Jack the truth. He cannot understand how she can love him and lie to him at the same time.

This is her secret, her burden. She will do her job well so that there is no reason for them to extract her. She will stay with her family as long as she is allowed, and she can only hope that she will survive a life without them when her time is up.


	6. thirty

"Is she asleep already?" Irina asks when Jack returns downstairs.

"She was out like a light." Jack puts a jazz record on, then holds out his hand. Smiling, Irina rises from the couch and walks over to him.

"What story did she want tonight?"

"Alice, again, of course." Jack chuckles, then pulls Irina closer and they begin to sway to the music.

It still surprises Irina to realize how deeply she loves him. All those years ago, when she had left Russia, she had thought of Jack as her enemy and was prepared to hate him. She had never imagined nights like this, had never dreamed of love and a child.

"Sydney said if we gave her a sister, she wants her to be called Alice."

Irina smiles. "And what did you say to that?"

"I said I'd talk to Mommy."

Irina feels that familiar stab of guilt. Sydney was a surprise, one the KGB allowed because she had argued a child would cement her cover. They would never allow a second child.

She knows Jack wants more children and the part of her that wishes this life was real wants more children too.

"We've spoken about this, Jack," she says.

"Years ago," he argues. "But Sydney's older now, and you're teaching schedule is lighter, and I'm not traveling as much."

She wants to say yes.

She cannot possibly agree.

"Just think about it." Jack kisses her neck.

And then he starts to sing along to Sinatra, and she feels her resolve weakening.

"Come fly with me, let's fly, let's fly away—"

"If we had another baby, would you want a boy or a girl?" She asks the question before she can stop herself.

"It doesn't matter." He smiles. "How about you?"

She shrugs. "I don't know."

"You want to start trying for Baby Bristow tonight?"

She pulls back slightly. "Jack, I – I'm on the Pill anyway and I'm still not sure—"

He tugs her toward him. "No pressure, sweetheart." He winks. "But we can practice in the meantime, just in case you change your mind."

"I'm not sure you need any more practice."

Guiding her to the couch, he shakes his head, his expression serious. "You can never get enough practice."

"Is that what they teach you at the CIA?"

"Laura, honey, you know I don't _practice_ with anybody else."

"You'd better not, Mr. Bristow." She feigns indignance, but doesn't stop him from taking her shirt off.

"It's been a long time. I may have lost my touch." He runs his hands over her bare back, giving her shivers all up her spine.

She laughs, her earlier tension gone. Jack always manages to make her smile, something else that had surprised her in the beginning. "It's been twenty-four hours, Jack. I'm pretty sure you haven't forgotten anything."

He pulls her onto the couch with him. "It never hurts to make certain."

"Right."

"I love you, Laura."

"Love you too, Jack," she says, and it is the truth.


	7. thirty five

Irina checks her reflection in the mirror, making sure that none of her real hair is sticking out from under the wig. She's not sure who is in charge of choosing her disguises, but while she questions the need for bright red hair, she's not going to argue. She knows too well the cost of arguing with the KGB. Some things are worth the fight; the colour of a wig is not.

Satisfied that the wig is on properly, Irina picks up her eyeliner and begins to add kohl to her eyes. When her make-up is done, she steps back and studies her reflection. The woman in the mirror wears a short black leather dress and fishnet stockings. She looks more like a whore than a mother.

_You're not a mother anymore_, Irina tells herself. Her life as Laura seems so long in the past, but Irina can't forget. She has learned to hide her heart, to make them believe that she never cared but sometimes she remembers. Just a little, just for a moment, and it is enough.

And she can handle another day, another night.

She smiles at her reflection, a cold bitter smile, before sliding a knife into her boot.

The KGB thinks they have broken her. They think she is their perfect soldier again. She will let them believe that for as long as she needs them to. For now, she is waiting for the right moment to take her life back.

She has learned patience, and she will wait as long as is necessary.

She glances at the photograph of the man she was sent here to assassinate. He will be at the club soon. Irina doesn't let herself wonder who he is or what he has done. She doesn't think about children he may have, or a wife who might miss him. She must remain objective, or she will fail.

Failure is not an option.

"Allo," she says to her reflection. "Je m'appelle Lola."

Paris is cool at this time of year, but Irina doesn't feel the chill. She enters the night club and heads straight for the bar, ignoring the admiring looks that she attracts. Her target is already there; she glances at him once, then ignores him.

She waits. After fifteen minutes, she looks around as if expecting someone. Half an hour later, she stands as if to leave. Her target has been watching her all along. He approaches her, smiling.

She lets him talk her into joining him and pretends to find him interesting. When he offers to drive her home, she smiles and accepts.

In the hotel room she rented for the evening, she imagines that he's someone else entirely, and killing him is easier than it should be. She leaves his body on the blood-soaked sheets and thinks about Kashmir as she walks into the night.

She is what they have made her, and it will not be long before she shows them just what she is capable of.


	8. forty

Irina is in Istanbul, tracking down a Rambaldi artifact, when Katya calls to tell her Mama has died. All thoughts of Rambaldi forgotten, Irina clutches the phone tightly, her knuckles turning white, and tells Katya she'll be in Moscow as soon as she can.

The next few days pass in a blur. Irina thinks of Papa, of red mittens in the snow. She thinks of Jack and the look in his eyes as he put a ring on her finger. She thinks of Sydney, unable to sit still long enough for Irina to braid her hair. Kashmir, and a daughter she knew far too briefly. Elena, telling her it was all for the best as she took the baby away.

And now Mama.

Aside from Katya, Irina has lost everyone she's ever loved.

Katya meets her at the airport, her skin too pale against her dark clothes, sunglasses hiding red-rimmed eyes. Irina has not cried yet; she learned to lock away the pain a long time ago. She would never have survived otherwise.

"What happened?" she asks once they are in the car. Katya would not give her any details over the phone, and Irina has spent the trip thinking of all the possible scenarios.

"She was sick," Katya says, looking out the window. "She knew what would happen and she didn't want that."

Irina cannot breathe.

"I found her in the bathtub. She used her favourite knife."

"Someone else could have done—"

Katya shakes her head. "No, Rishka. Mama did this herself. There was no one else."

Irina thinks of Sydney again; she has Mama's eyes, Mama's smile. Irina had always held the secret hope that one day they would meet, but now—

"Does Elena know?" Irina asks.

"I don't know. No one seems to know where she is."

"I'm glad she's not here. She doesn't deserve to be part of this."

Katya reaches for Irina's hand. Not even Mama knew the extent of Elena's betrayal; Katya was the only one Irina told, and only because she had been there in those first weeks after Irina's release.

"There's something else you should know," Katya says.

"What?"

She removes a yellowed note from her pocket and hands it to Irina. "I found this in Mama's things."

Irina unfolds the page; it is an official KGB document authorizing the elimination of Arkady Nikolaevitch Derevko.

She cannot stop the tears that spring to her eyes; the KGB has destroyed everything good about her life. Irina lost her allegiance to the KGB years ago; Katya's allegiance has always been with Irina.

They do not speak for the rest of the car ride. By the time they arrive at Katya's flat, Irina has decided she will take up Alexander Khasinau's offer to join his fledgling organization. Then she will steal it from him, and when the time is right she will kill him the same way that he killed her father.

"Do you trust me?" Irina asks.

"Of course."

Irina explains her plan.


	9. forty five

Irina is going to kill Arvin Sloane.

Sydney was never supposed to be involved in this life. She is supposed to get her degree in Literature and fall in love and get married. She is supposed to have a normal, happy life.

The path she has chosen holds nothing but pain; Irina knows this too well. She remembers her own hopes, her own expectations, and how quickly she realized life was very different.

Irina never liked Arvin. Perhaps, aware of her own deception, she recognized the darkness in him. But she had tolerated him for Jack's sake.

She suspects, but has never been able to prove, that Arvin had something to do with Jack's imprisonment after her extraction. This is just one of the many reasons she has kept tabs on him for the last decade.

She knows about SD-6 as well, and wonders about Jack's reasons for joining. It's possible he still believes in Arvin's friendship, or if he has also come to see the darkness in Arvin.

Now Arvin has recruited Sydney.

She's furious with Jack as well; how could he allow this? He has just as many – if not more – reasons for wanting Sydney to have a different life. Now Sydney thinks she's working for the CIA when she's really working for the enemy.

Her anger dims slightly as she wonders again just what her deception did to Jack. It doesn't matter that she truly loved – loves – him, that he was never supposed to find out the truth about her.

How different would their lives have been if she had taken a chance and told him?

It's not really that surprising Arvin recruited Sydney, Irina thinks. The daughter of Jack Bristow and Irina Derevko.

Irina is not in control of K-Directorate yet, though she will soon be. But she already has enough power to be able to protect Sydney and knows that Katya will do what she can from within the SVR.

It occurs to her suddenly that she might one day cross paths with Sydney.

Irina doesn't know what she will do if that ever happens. She knows what she should do, but the thought of seeing Sydney face to face after years of photographs is almost enough to undo her tightly controlled emotions.

She has seen Jack several times over the last ten years. The first time, she almost didn't recognize him; he was harder, his eyes cold, his hair almost completely grey. Irina had watched from the shadows, knowing that if he ever found out she was still alive, he would kill her.

Has his anger cooled over the years, she wonders. She doubts it. She destroyed the woman he loved; she doesn't think he'll ever forgive her.

How can he, when she cannot even forgive herself?

But she has been dwelling on the past too long. She stands and crosses to the window, looking out at the passersby.

And starts to think about how she can take revenge on Arvin for recruiting Sydney.


	10. fifty

Fifty.

Irina can't quite believe she's made it to her fiftieth birthday. She can still pass as a much younger woman, but she feels about a thousand years old. Most women, at this point in their lives, are thinking about grandchildren. This is the time to look back on one's life and reflect.

Irina has learned that the past holds nothing but regrets, and the future is something that may never come to be. She lives only for today and expects any day to be her last.

She thinks, suddenly, that perhaps the reason she has survived so long in this business is as punishment for her sins. And she knows, with a certainty she has not felt in a long time, that she does not want the eternal life Rambaldi offers.

One lifetime of regret is more than enough.

She has come to the family dacha outside Moscow not to celebrate, but to hide from the world for a while. She is tired, and alone, and as she sits in front of the fireplace, she allows herself a moment of weakness.

She thinks of Jack and Sydney, and of the child she never knew. It is no longer quite so painful to think of them. (In those first few years, it hurt to breathe at the thought of them.)

She wonders, now that so much time has passed, if Jack still hates her, and if he's finally told Sydney the truth about Laura. And she imagines, just for a minute, what they would do if she came back from the dead.

Probably kill her, she thinks.

Irina would like just one moment with Sydney, face to face. She wants to see Jack just once more.

Then she shakes her head, acknowledging the lie. Just once would not satisfy her, not with either of them.

She pours herself a glass of vodka and raises it in a silent, mocking toast. "Happy birthday, Irina," she says, then downs the alcohol.

If this was twenty years ago, she would be out with Jack right now. There would be dinner and dancing and romance.

That is not her life anymore.

Irina decides she's been melancholy enough for one evening, and she picks a novel at random from the shelf. She almost wishes Katya was here with her now, though Irina knows she would be bad company.

Even so, maybe Katya's presence would lift her spirits.

Or perhaps not.

There is nothing special about today, Irina decides; it is just another day of the year.

Tomorrow she will return to Moscow and life will be business as usual. She has taken control of K-Directorate from Khasinau, and people refer to her, ridiculously, as The Man. It is time to put her plan into motion; she has a long memory, and has not forgotten the people who have hurt her family.

She smiles; this will be her birthday present to herself.

And maybe next year she will treat herself to a trip to Los Angeles.


	11. fifty five

In the last five years, Irina has been to hell and back several times. Seeing Sydney and Jack again, despite the circumstances, had been worth it. Later, in losing her daughter, she had regained her husband, and she had wished things could be different.

But she had come back from the dead before, and so did Sydney, but before Irina saw her again she found herself in a hell of her own sister's making. She was prepared for death, but Elena wasn't that merciful.

Turns out Elena lost in the end, Irina thinks with a sad smile. Despite her scheming and her betrayal, she is the dead one and Irina is still alive. And not just alive, but in her husband's arms. She has held both her daughters, whom she thought lost to her; she has forgiven and been forgiven; she has seen the fulfillment of a prophecy she tried to prevent but she has not lost hope.

"You're too thin," Jack says as his hands skim over her back. "You're not eating properly."

"I've put on five kilograms in the last week. Just how fat would you like me to be?" She smiles, and silently acknowledges the truth in his words. Though she looks less like the skeleton Jack pulled out of that hole in the ground, she is still little more than skin and bone.

"I'm not leaving until I think you're healthy enough."

"Sydney needs you, too," she says. "And Nadia."

"Sydney has Vaughn and Nadia has a whole team of doctors of looking after her. You have no one."

"They need their father."

"You need your husband."

Irina is not used to needing anybody. As she looks at Jack now, she recognizes the stubborn light in his eyes, and decides that this is an argument she doesn't mind losing.

Jack's fingers lightly brush her cheek. "I keep thinking you're going to disappear on me," he says.

She smiles. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Even if you do, I'll find you."

"Promise?"

He nods solemnly, still caressing her face. There is more emotion in that simple gesture than in any words he could say and Irina feels tears prick her eyes. She has lost the mask of control she wore so well all her life, but she thinks that Jack is possibly the one person in the world she doesn't mind being weak with.

He brushes her tears away, and she is undone by his gentleness.

"I'm not going to lose you again," he says.

She has spent her life running in circles and right now she feels that she's come home. She's too tired to run anymore, and she realizes from the way Jack is looking at her that she no longer needs to run anywhere.

"Do we really have a chance?"

His lips quirk; not quite a smile. "We've survived this far."

The past is another country, Irina thinks; one she has no desire to revisit. So she smiles at her husband, and chooses to believe.

_And indeed there will be time  
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,  
Rubbing its back upon the windowpanes;  
There will be time, there will be time  
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;  
There will be time to murder and create,  
And time for all the works and days of hands  
That lift and drop a question on your plate;  
Time for you and time for me,  
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,  
And for a hundred visions and revisions,  
Before the taking of a toast and tea._

-- T.S. Eliot, "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock"

The End.


End file.
